


Never Let Go Of The Fiery Sadness Called Desire

by MouseyMoo19



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Angry assassin, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes is an idiot, Bucky Barnes recovers, Civil war didn’t happen, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, Just after CA:WS, M/M, Miscommunication, More tags to be added, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Original female cockblock... character, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Sick Bucky Barnes, Sick Fic, Slow Burn, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers is a sweet puppy dog, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Unrequited Love, get your shit together steve, steve rogers is an idiot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-06 00:20:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17929178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MouseyMoo19/pseuds/MouseyMoo19
Summary: Steve Rogers is thrilled to have his best friend in the world, Bucky Barnes, back at his side where he belongs... Angst ensues





	Never Let Go Of The Fiery Sadness Called Desire

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I’m new to this whole FanFiction writing so this is my little experiment!! Trying to getting into this writing lark so any comments and criticism is much appreciated!! Hope you enjoy!! 
> 
> Civil War didn’t happen in this

Never let go of the fiery sadness called desire

Steve POV

Asking someone when the trouble started is like asking someone when a storm started. You’d think it would be an easy task; obviously when the black clouds rolled in, their anger clear for all to see. But when you sit back and think about it, maybe the signs were there well in advance. Wasn’t the air slightly electric that afternoon? Well that’s clearly when the storm started.  
BUT WAIT. Wasn’t the air especially muggy that afternoon, too heavy and moist? Maybe that was when it started...

Aaaaaand I’m babbling. If I’ve learned anything over these past few months it’s that I’ve. Got. To. Stop. Doing. That. Use your words Steve.

What I’m trying to say is, if you asked me: “Steve, when did the trouble start?”, I would probably tell you it started when things started to get bad. But the truth is, it started a long time before things got bad. I was just too blind to see it. You can never pin point the exact moment things disastrously start to go to shit; you only realise when your in it up to your neck. And you’ve also been kneed in the balls a fair few times by an angry Russian assassin...

So, although most stories are supposed to start at the beginning. I’m not quite sure where the beginning begins....

I guess it will just have to start on what I first thought was going to be a truly unremarkable Tuesday night when the sweaty, smelly, sick and slightly amnesic assassin collapsed on my front porch. Who just happened to be my best friend, Bucky Barnes, who, up until recently, I believed had died in 1945.

Oh boy.

* * *

 

Steve POV

It was, what I believed at the time, an unremarkable Tuesday. An unremarkable Tuesday, that was just the latest in a long line of annoyingly unremarkable days that followed the battle of the Triskelion.

Now you’d think that after taking down an entire intelligence agency, exposing the fact that they had been infiltrated by Hydra for decades, defeating an evil plot to murder millions of innocent people and decimating more than my fair share of public property (getting shot several times in the process), while fighting my amnesic best friend who I thought had died in 1945 (who did the majority of the shooting), that I’d be extremely busy and in a fair amount of shit with a fair amount of people.

But no, alas, this was not the case. I very much wanted it to be the case!

It turns out that getting shot several times and falling a fair few feet from a crashing helicarrier into some fairly polluted water, is grounds for medical leave. Some strictly enforced medical leave.

Not only that, but it turns out that if the person who did said shooting (and some stabbing, there was stabbing involved) is your best bud Bucky, who you thought had died back in the 40s falling from a speeding train, who is now a brain washed super soldier assassin... well that is grounds for compassionate leave. Compassionate leave which is more strictly enforced than the medical leave. And involved talking to people, about feeling and crap... a lot.

Reading this back, I’m realising just how fucked up my life actually is. Maybe that’s why I was under strictly enforced compassionate leave and being sent to talk to a fair amount of people about feelings and crap... huh, revelation.

Anyway, while I can appreciate that all this leave was well intentioned and came from a very loving place in the hearts of my friends... I didn’t actually appreciate it.

My angry, amnesic, assassin best friend was out there someone where; probably cold and alone. And if that wasn’t the case he was probably being tortured or brain washed or killing people... Which was giving me an understandable amount of anxiety.

I wanted to spend every minute I could out there searching for the one remaining link to my past I had left, even if he didn’t remember me. Being on forced leave however, meant I had very few resources to carry this task out to the best of my ability and mainly involved me trailing around the streets of DC hoping to catch a glimpse of my lost friend.

Sam helped as much as he could, but given his lack of clearance and risk to his safety, also just involved him trailing the streets of DC hoping to catch a glimpse of my lost assassin friend.

Now we weren’t the only ones out looking for Bucky, a lost assassin causes a lot of worry for a lot of people. A lot of people with guns. Who were much more likely to shoot this lost, angry assassin than we were.

So, perhaps understandably, we hadn’t caught a glimpse of him since the Helicarrier incident.

I knew Sam, and a fair few others, thought that maybe Bucky hadn’t survived the crash of the Helicarriers, but I refused to believe that was a possibility. Couldn’t even contemplate the possibility. If I had survived there had to be just as good a chance that he had too, and I would continue to believe this until I wasp proved otherwise. Stubborn ass that I am.

My belief was soon proved correct on the unremarkable Tuesday night, which actually turned out to be pretty remarkable. And is maybe where the trouble actually started....

I was sat in front of the television in my apartment (which still amazes me to this day! The Tv, not the apartment), watching but not really watching some art programme, when the hesitant knock on the door brought me out of the daze I was in.

Sam would have texted ahead if he was planning on coming round, so I was instantly on alert with my heart thundering as adrenaline coursed through me. I was still sore from the injuries I’d received in the battle, and was mentally exhausted from the stress of the past few weeks, but my body dragged itself into fight mode even so.

Hefting my shield up onto my arm I cautiously made my way down the darkened hallway where, sure enough, there was an unfamiliar shape in the frosted glass of the front door.

Cracking the door open the slightest of cracks, I remember peering out over the edge of my shield at the intruder who was intruding on my unremarkable Tuesday... when the shield dropped to the floor with a clatter....

... Standing there with his hands clasped nervously in front of him, was Bucky.

His chin length, dark hair lay lank and unwashed under a filthy cap which was pulled low over his eyes.

He had changed out of his tac gear at some point and was dressed in a pair of dark jeans, a shirt and a jacket which had all seen better days. They hung off his frame awkwardly, and were covered with stains which confirmed my suspicions that they had once belonged to a dumpster.

The part of his face which was visible from under his cap was deathly pale and glistened with a sheen of sweat, the skin stretched tightly over the bones of his face. He looked more dead than alive.

“... Buck..” The word sounded choked as my throat was tight with emotion.

Bucky swayed unsteadily on his feet as he took a step forward, the ghost of a smile twisting his lips. His eyes were glassy and far away, but they were the same shade of ice blue they had been when I’d looked into them before he fell. That, at least, was the same.  
“Hey, Stevie...” The words were no more than a croak, his lips dry and cracked.

He then proceeded to collapse onto my front porch, and that was the end of my unremarkable Tuesday.


End file.
